My birthday is tomorrow, and now that nearly a year has passed since the last one I can tell you that I made a wish and that wish came true. I wished for a baby. The following month, on your papa’s birthday, we took a pregnancy test and it was positive. I was pregnant with you.
Little H, you are my birthday wish come true, and I thank my lucky stars for you every single day.
This weekend, I am not only celebrating the day I was born, but also the day you were born. You were born 3 months ago today.
I know you’re just an infant, and you will be my baby until you are way too old to be called one and mortified that I still do, but lately I can’t help but marvel that you are becoming such a boy. Maybe it’s just that you’ve outgrown all your precious newborn clothes and are fitting into boyish t-shirts, hoodies and pants. Or maybe it’s that you’re awake a lot more these days, no longer passing out after eating and waking only to eat again. All I know is we are already having so much fun.
Our repertoire of games keeps growing. Your papa plays games like Run Some Fabric Over My Face and Push My Nose Like a Button with you, both of which are played exactly how they sound, while you and I enjoy eskimo kisses and It’s Very Nice to Meet You, a game where I wrap your hand around my finger and we shake hands. You get giddy and giggly when we play, and that makes me giddy and giggly.
I also love singing to you. I serenade you in the morning just as we’re waking up, I hum while I change your diaper and try to get you to burp, and I belt out my favorite songs in the car—very loudly so that you can hear me all the way in the back seat. Oddly, it hadn’t occurred to me to sing you a lullaby until your lola reminded me I could. When I finally tried it, I was pleasantly surprised that your lips curled to a grin and you quieted down instantly. Before I knew it, you were asleep.
Your papa and I were initially a little nervous to take you out of the house, but since you turned 2 months old, we have been doing it more and more. You have gone to our favorite book store and Italian deli, the train station, an art opening, the supermarket, our local park and, of course, the nearest comic book store. We are trying not to go overboard with the sightseeing—it is flu season, after all—but there’s so much I want to show you!
All the hubbub and activity does take its toll, and the stimulation wears you out. That means that sometimes our outings end up in a meltdown—with you in tears and me breaking out in a panicky sweat. I hate seeing you cry, and I hate even more not knowing how to make it better. Sometimes, I feel like throwing my hands up in the air. Sometimes, I’m the one who ends up in tears. But then there are mornings like yesterday’s that make all the bad days fade away.
I had put you down for a nap in your swing while I ate my breakfast and did some work. Half an hour later, I heard you. I am so used to listening for your whimpers and whines, but this time you weren’t crying. You were babbling and cooing, perfectly happy and content. It was the coolest thing to see you there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to start the day. Are you going to be a morning person? I wonder.
I spend a lot of my time wondering. I wonder what you are going to be like when you grow up. What will be your first word? When will you take your first step? What kind of foods will you like? Where will you go to grade school, high school, college? Who will you marry? I can get caught up in the wonder, anxious to see you grow up. But, dear boy, don’t let me.
I don’t want to spend too much time thinking about the future because I might miss the right now. I want to savor this time with you.